Chapter 7
1236 Words
She alighted from the sleek black car, her feet hesitating against the polished stone driveway as if the ground itself might swallow her whole. Her wide eyes roamed over the sprawling mansion before her, a structure that exuded power and wealth in every carved detail and towering arch. For a woman like her, who had lived a life so modest, so far removed from extravagance, the sight was almost suffocating.
Nathan moved with unhurried grace, retrieving her suitcase from the trunk as though handling something fragile. He glanced her way, lips tilting into that ever-charming smile that seemed effortlessly natural on his handsome face.
“Come along,” he said smoothly, voice tinged with an air of authority despite his easy manner. “I’ll take you to the head housekeeper.”
Too overwhelmed to form questions, she merely nodded and followed. Her steps echoed softly against the marble floor as she entered the grand estate, and once again her breath caught. The interior was breathtaking—a portrait of modern opulence woven seamlessly with old-world grandeur. Glittering chandeliers dripped from the ceilings like frozen cascades of light, while polished floors reflected every shimmer. Gilded frames lined the walls, housing portraits whose eyes seemed to follow her every move.
It was too much. For someone who had once counted coins to make it through the day, the sheer magnitude of wealth pressed down on her chest like a weight.
Then—footsteps.
She turned instinctively, and her gaze fell upon another man. He was striking, but not in the same way as Nathan. Where Nathan carried himself with sultry allure and a devil-may-care charm, this man bore the elegance of nobility. His hair shone like spun gold beneath the chandelier’s light, and his emerald-green eyes gleamed with an almost ethereal refinement. Every line of his posture screamed discipline and composure, as if he had been born in a palace.
“Welcome to the Grivano Estate, Young Madam,” he greeted with a polite inclination of his head.
Her lips parted in bewilderment. “You are…?”
The man placed a hand to his chest in a gesture of courtesy. “I am the chief housekeeper here. My name is Killian.”
She blinked rapidly, dumbfounded. “Housekeeper? You?” The words slipped out before she could contain them. Her jaw slackened.
What in the world? Why are Caius’s subordinates all absurdly attractive? A wild thought sprang into her mind—is he perhaps into men? But no, that couldn’t be. He had a wife once. A child too. She shook her head quickly, silently scolding herself for even entertaining such nonsense.
Killian, however, remained serenely composed, as though her astonishment were nothing new.
He turned briefly toward Nathan. “I’ll handle things from here. You’ve done well.”
Nathan handed over her suitcase without protest. “Make sure she’s looked after,” he said with a teasing wink in her direction, though his tone toward Killian carried sincerity.
Killian’s reply was calm, clipped, and certain. “Naturally.”
But then his expression shifted, more serious, as he added, “The Master expects you to report back once you’re finished here.”
Something unspoken passed between them. Killian’s firm gaze. Nathan’s faint nod of understanding.
“I know.” Nathan’s face hardened for the briefest of moments before his smile slid back into place like a mask. Turning to her, his eyes warmed once more, brimming with that same disarming charm.
“I’ll take my leave, signora. We’ll meet again soon.” He punctuated his farewell with a wink that left her cheeks uncomfortably warm, then strode away.
And just like that, she found herself alone with Killian.
Awkward silence settled between them, heavy as stone.
“Well then, Young Madam,” Killian finally said, gesturing politely for her to follow. “This way.”
He hefted her suitcase with the ease of one who had carried burdens far heavier.
“Is this truly all your luggage?” he asked as they ascended the sweeping staircase.
“Yes,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on the grand banister. “Caius… instructed me not to bring much.”
Killian inclined his head, accepting the answer without comment. “That will do. Whatever else you require, I’ll ensure it is delivered promptly. Our servants are well-trained. Do not hesitate to summon us for even the smallest matter.”
She nodded, though discomfort prickled at her. His unwavering formality, his constant address…
“Um… Killian?” Her voice wavered. “You don’t need to keep calling me Young Madam. It feels… awkward.”
His expression didn’t shift, but his voice grew firmer. “Forgive me, but I cannot. The Master has decreed that we address you with that title at all times. To disobey would be to invite punishment.”
Her brow furrowed. “Is he always so strict about trivial things?” She bit her tongue before she could say “heartless.”
Killian’s lips thinned, though his tone remained measured. “It would be more accurate to say that he does not permit disobedience. Still—” his voice softened slightly, “—you should not mistake his severity for cruelty. In truth, the Master possesses the gentlest heart of anyone I have ever known. Given time, you will see it for yourself.”
There was no guile in his eyes, no falsehood in his words. It was the same sentiment Luciano had spoken once before. Could Caius truly be that kindhearted? The thought unsettled her. She had learned to guard herself, to take kindness with caution, for trust was not something to be handed over freely.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden clamor. Shouts, hurried footsteps, a piercing cry that echoed down the corridor.
She froze mid-step. Killian stiffened beside her.
Moments later, a woman burst out of a nearby room, her apron askew, hair disheveled, and face pale with terror. She fled past them without pause.
“I—I quit!” she shrieked, voice cracking. Her eyes were wide, glassy, as though she had seen something unspeakable.
“Mrs. Rosenberg!” Killian called, his voice sharper than before. “Wait!”
But the woman was already gone, her footsteps fading down the hall. Killian exhaled heavily, rubbing his temple with resignation. “So it happens again…” he muttered.
Confusion gnawed at her, mingled with unease. What in heaven’s name had that woman seen?
Her gaze drifted to the open door the maid had fled from. A faint dread coiled in her stomach, yet her feet carried her forward, drawn by morbid curiosity.
The bedroom looked as though it had been ravaged by a storm. Sheets tangled on the floor, pillows torn, furniture upended. And there, in the very heart of the chaos, stood a child.
Noelle froze.
The girl couldn’t have been more than five, her tiny frame trembling in the center of the devastation. In her small hand gleamed a fruit knife, its sharp edge glinting under the fractured sunlight that filtered through the torn curtains.
Her wide eyes, swimming with tears, snapped to Noelle’s.
“Don’t… don’t come closer…” the little one whispered, voice broken, raw with terror. Her knuckles whitened around the hilt of the blade as if it were the only thing anchoring her in a world that wanted to hurt her.
Noelle’s heart lurched painfully against her ribs.
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